


Keep You Safe

by thebeastinsideusall



Series: Marvel Head Cannons and Tumblr Prompts [6]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Punisher, Punisher (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Reader Insert, Romantic Soulmates, Soul Bond, Soulmarks, Soulmate marks, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 02:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10548440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebeastinsideusall/pseuds/thebeastinsideusall
Summary: The idea of a phrase of words on your skin, at birth, will tell you exactly who you're meant to be with, is ridiculous.





	

Frank

The idea of a phrase of words on your skin, at birth, will tell you exactly who you're meant to be with, is ridiculous. 

Just the idea that some great Fate chose someone perfect for you seems like a chick flick moment from hell. 

Who were They to decide who you're meant to be with? Who were They to set you up with someone you'd never met? 

It's stupid. 

Who would want you anyways? Seriously? You sell weed, you strip to pay the rent. You smoke way too many cigarettes and drink far too much whiskey. 

You're a fuck up. Plain and simple. But that's okay, you've accepted who and what you are for a long while now. You're a stripper. And that's okay. 

You've seen it happen a few times. A girl from the club suddenly go stock still and then leap into the arms of the man across from her. Soulmates. 

A couple times on the street. A man dropping his coffee cup and newspaper. A young woman letting go of the leash on her dog. You always turn and walk away. That's a life not for you. 

Yet you sometimes worry. That it'll happen one day. You really hope it doesn't. 

No one realizes which one is your soul mark. You've got words and symbols all over your skin. Inked in heavy to draw attention away from the scrawl over your left breast. 

'Ma'am, stay down I'll keep you safe'

You have no freaking clue what sort of scenario that meant or what conversation was going to happen. Because never in your damn life have you ever felt safe. 

Seriously. The club you work in? It's slimy and downright trashy. And it's frequented by mobsters all the damn time. You don't know which ones, too focused on making the rent and saving up for the motorcycle you want. 

There's a constant flow of baddies and drug dealers, mob kings and lowlifes. You don't really bother to catch names or jobs. Just the bills shoved into your stilettos and the string of your thong. The bouncers keep you and the twenty other women safe. So no biggie. 

You're up next. A cliche Nickleback song is your intro and you won't admit it but you love this song. It makes you feel strong and sexy, wanted and gorgeous. Though the men seated around the glass table and pole don't see your face. Just your body and the way it moves around and around. 

By the time the song ends, you’ve got a few hundred in your hands. Some twenties in your heels and a very generous one dollar bill stashed into your thong. Fucking cheapskate. 

You scramble to pick up the last few bills, not wanting them to be grabbed back or for the next girl to claim them cause you didn't pick them up, when a gunshot rings out. 

The place goes still for a second, music still playing, bass pumping and the disco lights swirling. Before chaos. More gunshots, a frenzy of movement.

A shot lands on the glass floor near your feet, shattering your stillness and making you move. The heels make it hard but you scramble to the bar a few feet away, throwing yourself over it and hiding behind the heavy metal sink beneath it. Your hands shake as you pull on your top, stashing the bills into the cups of the bralet as the heavy sounds of fighting and shouting come over the bar. 

You should have run for the dressing room, where the other women are being pushed out by the bouncers and into the alley towards their cars. You should have run and not hidden. 

The mobsters that frequent the club are being ambushed by someone. Their heavy bodies dropping with thick thuds followed from gunshots. You're trembling and covering your mouth with your hands. Trying desperately to stay as quiet as possible. 

But the bloodied vacant face of one of the bouncers scares you into squealing in fright. His body drops on your right ankle and secures you where you are with its heavy bulk. The noise you made makes the fighting pause before it renews again. 

Then there's more shouting, closer than before and you can't get the body off your foot. There's hot, wet tears streaming down your face and honestly, you're thinking you're about to die. 

Heavy body vaults over the bar next to you as a barrage of bullets hits the heavy wood and metal behind you. The glass mirror behind the bar shatters and cracks in places, little pieces falling over your bare legs as you tremble at the face too close to yours.

Dark, almost black eyes stare into your fear-filled ones. You can't see an emotion in them at all, nothing. Dark head littered with scars and a light stubble on his tanned flesh. A grimace on his lips as blood drips down his right side from the long leather duster on his frame.

"Ma'am, stay down I'll keep you safe." And later you'll panic at the words. Because right now you honestly only hear the sounds of gunfire and shouting. Fear gripping you tighter than a vice. 

"Please, I don't wanna die here." Your lips form the words, hot tears streaming down your cheeks. Your heavy makeup running and you know you look like a drowned street rat from your lack of real clothes and the bills spilling from your bra.

He only nods and offers his hand to you. You slip yours into the warm grip of his and he tugs. Hard enough to pull you up and to your feet in a second. His free arm raised and trigger pulled as bullet after bullet flies from the barrel of his gun. His arm winds around your side and waist, pulled taut with strength and power as he walks and pulls you with him. 

His boot kicks open the side door and you're out into the street. But there's no calm out there either. There's SUVs parked on the curb sideways and in the distance the flashes of red and blue could be seen. 

The grip on your waist tightens and you’re pulled down a side alley, too fear stricken and shocked to really protest just yet. Until you're blocks away and the cold of the city hits you suddenly. You're literally in nothing but your lingerie and there's still bills jutting out from the bra. 

"Hey..." There's no answer, only a tightening on your waist. Not bruising or forceful. It's a strange feeling. 

"Umm, hey, you can let me go now?"

Finally he pulls you into a shadowed alley, blocks from the club. A late police cruiser speeding past lights up the alley for a half second and you see the white mark on his ballistic vest. Fear grips you again and suddenly your savior is.. 

"Don't panic, not gonna hurt you." His voice is gruff and rugged, deep. Sending chills down your skin that has nothing to do with the cold. 

You start shaking, your body shivering and skin swelling with goosebumps to try and combat the chill of the winter air. Eyes wide, looking up at the one and only Punisher. The fable and legend of New York. Alive. Not dead. 

"You're..." And you're about to say it. The Punisher. It's what he is after all. But those dark eyes flicker, just a tiny flash. But in that flicker, you see a tremendous yearning and grief the likes of which you've never experienced. 

"You're the one they're talking about - Frank Castle?" And you say it as a question, because you know. And he knows you know who and what he is. But you want to ask anyways, because you're not sure what's happening right now. And you'd rather your throat not get slit. 

He nods, eyes dashing to the lights of another cruiser speeding down the dark street. His hand on your hip tightens and pulls you closer to his bulk, into the shadows. His darkness. 

And you're thankful because it's like he's a furnace, his heat warming you up as you shiver in the frigid city air. And he can feel it, your full body shudder and the way you're clenching your jaw to keep your teeth from chattering. 

His hands and arms move, shucking the leather duster from his shoulders and tossing it over your shoulders. The heat from it alone has you sighing in relief. It hangs on your smaller frame, the edges touching the ground easily even though you're in high heels. It's heavy, real leather, and it envelopes you. The scents of gunpowder, sweat and coffee hang heavy in the liner.

He gently takes your elbow, guiding you through streets and alleys in the darkness for blocks. The both of you in silence as he takes you... somewhere.

"Ma'am?" You stop and look at him, shock at the reference to yourself. You're no ma'am. No lady. 

"This is gonna sound real forward, but… what are your words?"

And you’re so shocked by his request you just stand there staring at him. 

"My... My words?"

He nods, tugging the sleeve of his shirt down from his neck, revealing neat letters. 

Eyes wide. Spine straight suddenly. 'Please, I don't wanna die here' written on his skin. Looping and slightly slanted to the side. The special scroll that's just for soul marks. The words you spoke to him there on his flesh. 

"My words..." Your hand instinctively scratch lightly at the scrawl over your breast, still visible because you haven't covered yourself with the duster fully. 

His eyes are drawn to your rounded globe of flesh and for the first time in a long while you feel yourself blush under the gaze of a man. His dark eyes grow darker with something you're not sure how to describe as he tentatively reaches out, fingertips brushing your flesh, and it's like electricity is jolted through you. 

You gasp, chest moving. His hand zips back to his side but it's happened. That undeniable flame ignited under your skin. Soul words feel as if they're burning, yet you don't sense the flame. Just the heat as the bond is created, formed and strengthened in a half second. 

"Fuck." He whispers and you nod, palming your skin where it feels as if you just got a tattoo. The skin’s tight and warm. 

You could feel him, sort of. Not the full emotional scale you hear about and are taught in school. You don't 'hear' emotions or images from his mind. Just feel as if he’s surprised. Well, you are too, by God. And under that is fear. Lots and lots of fear.

"Come on." You nod dumbly as he leads you away, a different direction to where he was guiding you first off. 

You just follow along. Too dumbfounded to really say anything or comprehend how in the world you had found your soulmate like you had. Or who it was that Fate had picked to form your bond with. A bond getting stronger with every passing step. 

The duster’s warm still, and you pull it closer around your chest as you walk. Another strong whiff of that mixed scent hits you and nearly bowls you over with the intensity of it. With that bond in place now, it's making everything a thousand times more intense. 

"Where are we going?" Your voice is quiet, timid sounding in the shadows and scattered glows of the broken streetlights on run down streets. 

"Safe place." And suddenly he's leading you into the most disgusting looking, rundown apartment building you've ever seen. And you live in the fucking slums. 

Up the stairs, round the back and up the fire escape. Your heels threaten to push through the holes in the grates and topple you over or break your ankle. But Frank keeps a hand on your elbow to steady you and you're grateful, not only that he's keeping you from falling but because his touch, even through the leather, makes you feel warm.

He helps you through a window and your feet touch creaky wood floors. Then the curtain’s back over the window, lights flicked on and the florescent shine lights up racks of weapons and ammo. Boxes and crates of explosives. Knives. All of it. You step back slightly, into the wall as you stare wide eyed at everything around you. 

Frank's moving around, emptying pockets and shucking his belt that's full of everything under the sun before he moves to you, gently taking your hand and tugging you to sit down at a table in front of him. His heavy frame sits on the other chair and he scrubs a hand over his face. 

"Look, I... I can't do this." He gestures to the space between you both. "I'm not a good man and I've already lost one family. I'm not making another one just to lose you, too." 

And all you can do is nod. He's right, he's a dangerous man with a shit ton of enemies. An entire city is out for his head and here you are, his damned soulmate. A target was just painted on your back, bright white and red circles with a blaring sign that said, BAIT.

"What do I do?" Cause you have no clue what to do. You can't leave, you don't have that kind of money even though you strip. Your rent is ridiculous and insurance is stupidly expensive. 

He closes his eyes and heaves a breath before standing, walking over to a battered rusted toolbox. Half a dozen locks click open as he opens it up and tugs out something. Hands it to you.

It's a bank bag. The zip-up leather kind. It's rounded on the sides as if full to the brim as he sits back down across from you. 

"There's a few hundred thousand in there. Get out of the city. The state. Country, if you want to."

Your mouth opens in shock, hands trembling as you unzip the bag and you see the pile of bills inside. All neatly stacked and in little packets of amounts. It's more than you'd ever hoped to have and more than you'd ever figured you get in your lifetime. 

"I don't..." But you did get it. You did. He wanted you out of here. Safe. Away from here and from him. As far as fucking possible.

You didn't know him. Not at all. Just the mug shots for his warrants. The images on the news from his trial. The news report when he'd killed so many his first day in jail. The paper that had his name and face with the word DEAD written in thick bold lettering. 

Other than that, you just had the bond that had snapped into place. You knew nothing of him. Not his likes or dislikes, the way he likes his coffee or his favorite treat. Just the guilt and grief in his eyes as he looks at you. The dark tuft of hair on top of his head that's growing out from a previous shave. And the way the bond screams at you to touch him somehow. 

"Please, Doll, just... Just get out of this shit hole. Get out and live your life. Please." His hand takes yours and squeezes gently as you hold back a sob.

Out of nowhere, you want to cry and scream to stay, but you know it would be pointless and bite your cheek to stay quiet. 

He walks you home after that. Tells you to keep the duster as you try to hand it to him. 'Lady shouldn't be seen with so little on except by her husband' and you take that to heart because you know what you are now. Knowing who he is to you now, it hurts that's how he met you. Dressed in nothing hardly at all, dancing for spare bills. 

"Take care of yourself, Sweetheart." He gives you a smile, a boyish thing that doesn't fit the darkness in his eyes. And he's gone, turning and melding into the dark streets as you stand at the doorway into your shitty building. 

Alone. With a soulmate bond wanting you to run back to him, but realistically, you know you'll never find him. 

So you run inside, pack your duffle and leave everything else except your stash of cash and the picture of your parents. Change your clothes and leave all the outfits and lingerie behind. You don't need to wear it anymore. 

The duster keeps you warm as the city stars to wake up around you, reminding you of why you need to leave and why you're able to do so. You hold no love for this place. It's done nothing but ruin every chance you've ever had at a better life. 

You take the first bus that goes beyond the city limits. Then the next one and the next one. Till all you see around you are fields of corn and pastures of cattle. Far from any skyscraper, strip club or mob territory. 

Far from him. Your hand rubs over your soul mark. It aches near constantly now. You'll have to get used to it. Like many others who bonded yet didn't get to be with their Soulmates. 

This was part of your fear. That you'd be rejected by him. But... You weren't rejected - at least, that's how it felt to you. He wanted you safe, he was a damned vigilante murderer, who wanted you to be safe from him. 

So you find a nice little town in the south, close to Texas but far from the border. Buy that motorcycle you've been drooling over since you were twelve. Rent a little two-acre lot with a trailer and fenced in yard, a garage and a yard shed. Surrounded by trees and not far from town. 

You adopt a five year old male pit bull from the shelter who was about to be euthanized. You name him Boss, and he's a sweetheart. He reminds you of Frank. Battle scars scattered over him but he has kind eyes and a big happy grin when he pants. 

You work in a little auto parts store - the only one in town - full time. Only because there's no sense in spending every cent he gave you. You're gonna save that shit for when it counts. Sometimes you take Boss with you, just because everyone loves him. 

A year later you're in the shop with the boys, helping change oil and fix carburettors. It's fun and takes your mind off of Frank. Because he's still on your mind far too often after such a long amount of time. 

Two and half years after that you get another Pitt bull, this one a two year old blue and white mix with docked ears. Another dog fight rescue ready for the walk of no return. His name’s Dante. 

You buy a run down truck from your boss. Fix it up on your downtime at home. Your boys lounge in the sunshine and smile away. 

The crunch of gravel hits your ear and you peek from the hood of the truck. Wipe your hands on a shop towel as a dented up and rusted car comes up the drive. You're about to pull the pistol from the cab of the truck...

Then you see those dark whiskey eyes and the tall frame of him step out from the car. 

"Frank?"

Your soul mark burns with the intensity of a hundred Suns and all you can do is stare, drop the rag and watch as your dogs wag their tails and greet him.

He's really here. Standing in front of you and smiling. His face is healing, like he's been in one hell of a fight and barely got out by the skin of his teeth. But he's here. 

"Hey, Sweetheart."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are Love
> 
> Comments are Life


End file.
